


On the Road Again

by Sarielle



Series: Shermaine Pines AU [5]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Canon Compliant up to The Last Mabelcorn, Character Development, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Family, Family Bonding, Family Fluff, Ford gets fuckin roasted for his own good, Ford is a Nerd for Rocks, Gen, Gender Dysphoria, Humor, I have never been to the US in my life but I know long car trips, Neurodivergent Ford Pines, No Incest, Other, Rated for swearing, Road Trips, Sibling Bonding, Sibling Love, Sit the fuck down Ford, Stan Succesfully Mansplains the Future, Trans Dipper Pines, Trans Male Character, Transphobia, Travelling through Oregon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-18
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-04-26 22:36:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5023171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarielle/pseuds/Sarielle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dipper's having a bad body day and is not exactly cheered up by his Grunkle Stan's proclamation that the twins are joining him  on another Family Road Trip through Oregon in order to pickup a new weather vane for the Mystery Shack. Although things do start to look up when it's revealed Ford will be joining them and Stanley tells the kids that they can each choose one attraction to stop at along the way. In fact to be completely fair, Dipper was having an alright time until Mabel pinned a guy to a target with a longbow.</p><p>Spiritual Sequel to 'Born to Bee Wild', can be read as a standalone fic. Tw for discussion of dysphoria and Body Image issues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On the Road Again

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thatpersonbehindyou](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=thatpersonbehindyou).



> Holy shitbricks it's me again. I know I should be updating Shermy instead of this but I have not been able to touch the heavy stuff recently and writing this as a fluffy one shot got away from me, like 10k words away from me. My mental health has been taking a dive recently and that last ep did not help, so here is my relief happy fluffy twin-heavy fic with no major mental trauma and only a little bit of in-fighting, and Ford my beloved favourite awful old man, gets some screen time as well as being rightfully roasted by a 12 year old.

 

Mabel came into the living room. Her twin was hanging upside down, hat on the floor, brown curls drooping.

The Big Dipper was visible uncovered by hair.

His cheeks were pink with blood, he stared through her, eyes unfocused.

“Hey, Dip-Dop... what’cha doing?”

Her brother made a non-committal grunting noise, and shrugged his shoulders, his vest hit him in the face.

She would have laughed at that if she wasn’t busy being genuinely concerned for her sibling’s welfare.

 “What's wrong? Are you sick? Is Robbie being a jerk again? Did something happen? Do Grunkle Stan and I need to get the bees?”

“Nah. it's nothing like that, Mabel.  Just...” he sighed loudly.  “You know. _Stuff_. Don't worry about it.” He sounded dejected.

Mabel wanted to fight whatever was making him like this.

“…Oh, _Stuff_ stuff? Is it bad today?” she asked.

 _Stuff_ stuff was hard to fight.  A hidden enemy, some kind of ninja ghost that settled down onto her brother’s shoulders when they least expected it.

“Yeah, I don't know why either. I mean I was doing so well even after all that stuff with Wendy and the Manotaurs and now it's bad again for no reason.”

He blew a lock of hair out of his eyes, but gravity put it back again and he let out another noise of frustration.

“Oh. Can I do anything to help?”

“Not really.  I just kind of feel like lying here and pretending it's not happening, feel free to join me.”

Mabel sat down cross-legged beside him on the floor.

She had been planning on asking Candy and Grenda to go squirrel-watching with her that afternoon but this seemed much more important.

 She stared at the blood rushing to her brother’s cheeks, thinking.

“Is there any more medicine you can take, I mean you got your injection before we came, right? Mom said you wouldn't need another one all summer.”

Dipper chuckled. “Yeah, I was there, dumdum. It’s meant to last six months this one. I think it's just a bad day or something.”

“Oh.” She said head falling slightly. She couldn’t fix bad days so easily.

She paused, what would Dipper find distracting? _Boy Things_ , she had to think of what he and Soos liked to do together.

“Well, uh, want to see what happens when I put pinecones in the microwave?”

Dipper scratched at his nose, then shook his head slightly, more hair fell across his face.

 “No, thanks Mabel. I kinda don’t feel like doing _anything_ today.” He said.

“Well then, do we need a lazy day action plan?” She asked finally.

He shrugged. “Sure if you've got one.”

“I do, Dipper. here's the plan: I'm gonna go get tortilla chips and soda and then I'm going to come back and feed you the tortilla chips and drink the soda while I tell you about my idea for my epic Ducktective FanFiction that replaces that awful twist ending. You don't have to do anything just listen and help me work out the plot, is that ok with you?”

Her brother nodded staring straight up at the wooden ceiling, arms crossed tight across his chest.

“Ok, do ya want anything?” Mabel clambered up to her feet.

“Can you get me that paddleball Soos keeps under the counter in the gift shop? I kinda need something mindless to do.”

“Sure. Try not to pass out before I get back.”

Mabel’s footsteps padded off into the other room and Dipper, taking her advice turned himself the right way around.

He glanced at his reflection in the window, his face was turning purple from all the blood flow and his hair was a long mess of brown ringlets, like dolls hair.

His eyelashes were too long, his cheeks too babyish and soft.  That uncomfortable winded feeling roared from where it had lodged itself deep in his ribcage, like some kind of parasitic chest-bursting alien.

It made his bones itch and his heart hurt and

_Everything_

_Felt_

_Wrong._

He couldn't even get something like sitting to feel alright right now.

So instead he lay down on his back, resting on his arms folded behind his head, staring back at the ceiling. After a while he closed his eyes.

He couldn't even go out and distract himself with mysteries because the answer to all his questions was in the basement below and he didn't know how to talk to him about it.

He didn’t even know if he trusted him entirely. Admired and respected him, sure. But trust the one who first told him to trust no one?

It stuck his frazzled brain in a logic loop he couldn’t think his way out of.

He was awoken from his reverie by a sudden coldness against his forehead. Dipper almost jumped into his twin’s arm in surprise.

His sister stood over him holding a cold can of soda to his birthmark.

“Woah, what? What?! Oh Mabel, you’re back.”

“Hey don’t doze off on me, Nerdbird. You’re my sounding board remember?”

He took the cold can of soda from her and set it down beside him drawing himself up into a sitting position, knees pulled to his chest and arms around his knees.

“Sorry, I was just thinking.” he muttered.

Mabel sat down next to him, he moved over to accommodate her instinctually.

“Whatcha thinking about?” His sister asked, head resting near his shoulder.

What could he tell her?

_Oh don't worry Mabel I'm…_

_...Just thinking about how every cell my body is screaming “wrong” at me’,_

_and my noodly girl limbs and puberty chest are destroying any hint of body image I may have once had._

_...Just thinking about whether or not we can actually trust the two adults we live with who are supposed to be in charge of our safety._

_…Just thinking about how nothing ever stays the same for long._

“Nothing important.” he said stretching “Anyway I want to hear about this fanfiction of yours.”

“Oh Dipper, Dipper, Dipper. Sherbet Dip-Dab. _My dearest_ brother. This is not any mere fanfiction. This is an epic of the ages. This is a Mabel Pines Ducktective AU Masterpiece."

He grinned but quickly made a big show of pretending to not be interested. “I’m regretting agreeing to this already.”

“Aww, come on! Don't be like that bro-bro. You don't have to do anything. Just sit there and give me a few tips now and then.”

“Alright, if you say so.”

Mabel cleared her throat loudly, getting ready to begin.

“Ok well. We set our scene in, Ducktective’s hospital room at the beginning of the season finale, the room is furnished with flowers and get-well cards and various gifts of breadcrumbs…”

Dipper lay back against the armchair and listened to his sister’s tale. 

The best thing about being a twin, he thought, was that even when you were suffering, you didn’t have to do it alone.

 

* * *

 

Stan came though the hall with groceries a couple of hours later, well Dipper guessed it was a couple of hours later at least.

He’d lost track of time, having got carried away solving his sister’s mystery fanfiction, which while sentimental and a little hard to follow was at least distracting him from the screaming match playing out between his body and brain.

Their Grunkle leant in the doorway of the hall that connected the living room to the kitchen and the front door a crate of tinned food in his hands.

He looked at his niece and nephew’s expressions with some concern.

“What's up with you Debbie Downers? Did something get cancelled?” he asked.

Dipper said nothing but opened his mouth, his sister dutifully responded by scooping a tortilla chip with salsa and putting it in.

“ _Benjamin Franklin_ , Grunkle Stan.” Said Mabel with a solemn nod.

That was Alpha Twin code for trans stuff, ‘Benjamin Franklin’ meant drop the subject immediately or destroy the evidence.

Benjamin Franklin meant defend Dipper Pines above all things.

“What?” Stanley took a second to remember. “Oh riiight. Do ya need anything kid? I think we’re out of bees?” He scratched his nose absent-mindedly.

“It's ok, Stan.” Murmured Dipper sitting up wiping salsa off his chin. “Thanks though.”

Stanley stood like an awkward shadow in the doorway to the kitchen not sure what else to say.

“Are you kids looking forward to the non-optional Family trip tomorrow?” He hadn’t told them about said trip so it was kind of a pointless question but it changed the subject well enough.

 Mabel’s eyes lit up like the LED lights in the firefly sweater she was wearing “Family Trip!?”

Dipper emitted a sound similar to the cry of an enraged swan. “Non-Optional?”

“Buck up, kiddo. You won't be the only Nerd in the car, Poindexter’s coming with us.”

Mabel stopped him there holding both hands up. “Woah, woah, _woah_. Grunkle Stan, old buddy, old pal. _You_ convinced _Grunkle Ford_ to come on a family trip with us, willingly?”

Their great uncle shrugged. “Course I did, he's family too right?”

“Right.” Said Mabel, not convinced. “And you didn't trick him?”

Stanley grinned, eyes twinkling. “Mabel, Honey. What kinda guy do you take me for?

Before she got a chance to reply Dipper butted in. “That's rhetorical Mabel, you don't have to answer that.”

His sister nodded and resumed her role of spooning salsa into her brother's mouth.

Stan turned to go, but Dipper stopped him his mouth still full. “Mmfh- Wai-Wait Stan. Where are we going tomorrow?”

“It's a surprise!”

Both twins groaned in unison.

 Mabel puffed out her cheeks.

“I swear Grunkle Stan if you blindfold us again and drive us round like a roller coaster I will spew on everything you love- and before you ask, _yes_ I am including myself and Dipper.”

Dipper crinkled up his nose. “She's not kidding she used to get carsick really badly when we were younger.”

“Yeah well, you’re safe, Dr Buzzkill down there would have something to say about the blindfolds. I'm not allowed any creativity with that old _nudnik_ hanging over me.” He shook his head to himself “Anyway I have a pantry to stock, you two carry on being Negative Nancies or whatever it was you you were doing.” He disappeared from the doorway. The twins exchanged a look.

“We're going to be stuck in a car with Stan and Ford trying to kill each other for who knows how many hours?” Dipper shook his head. “That is just a recipe for disaster.” He grabbed another corn chip and stuffed it in his mouth. “Plus _who knows_ what Stan said to get Great Uncle Ford to come along but whatever it is I don't think he’s coming out of the good of his heart.” He readjusted his seat pulling himself up on to the armchair.

Maybe they'll get on better on the road?” Theorised Mabel resting her head back against the armchair, avoiding her brother’s feet. She didn't sound all that convinced herself. “Maybe this road trip is just a cover for Grunkle Stan trying to smooth things over between them and we can have a fun time as a family.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Said Dipper, not wanting to crush her dreams.

 

* * *

 

It was seven minutes past seven in the morning. The sun was already high, the birds and cicadas were singing and Stanley Pines was hollering fit to wake the dead.

“Alright sad sacks, Estimate Time of Departure, seven thirty! Look Alive people, this is your twenty minute call.”

Dipper groaned into his cereal, rubbing his eyes for what felt like the thousandth time that morning. He hadn’t been able to get comfortable last night. His brain and body were still not cooperating.

“You got dragged into this too, huh?” Asked Ford across the table. He had three mugs of black coffee in a triangle in front of him and he was drinking from all of them.

“Yeah, he made it non-optional. How’d he get you to come along?”

Ford cleared his throat, a little embarrassed. “The same way he always has, an elaborate mixture of blackmail and emotional guilt.”

Dipper raised his eyebrows but said nothing, spooning more Overly Sensitive Owl non-fruit-flavoured loops into his mouth waiting for any further elaboration his great uncle might come out with.

Ford sighed, it was the deep and infinite sigh of someone who was well and truly done with everything the multiverse had to offer and really, he just wanted some sleep and maybe a sandwich.

 “He has our _baby photos_ , Dipper. Awful baby photos from the gaudy hell-scape that was the 50s, photos I would quite like to dispose of forever.”

His nephew pulled a face.

 “Eugh, that’s harsh even for Stan.”  He slid his eyes over to look at his sister warily.

“Don't they have some kind of twin Geneva convention against that kind of thing?”

Mabel didn't answer, either she didn't know or she wasn't listening. The latter was the most likely Dipper suspected because she was starting at Ford’s arrangement of coffee cups transfixed like a moth to a flame, her forehead creased and lips pursed in deep thought.

Ford noticed this too, “What's the matter, m’dear?” he asked.

Mabel fixed him with a confused look, pointing at the cup he was nursing.

“Grunkle Ford why don’t you make one _huge_ cup of coffee instead of having _three_ normal sized cups?”

“I-I well I…” Ford let out a sleepy sigh, and rubbed a hand over his chin feeling how much his stubble had grown.

 “To be completely honest with you, I went to bed three hours ago, Mabel. I’m not exactly at my prime thinking capacity this morning.”

The girl nodded, understanding.

 “Would you like a bigger cup?” she asked face sweet as her sugary cereal.

“No I’ll manage, thank you. I have my pride to defend.” As if to prove his point Stanford picked up a mug in each hand and downed both in quick succession.

Mabel’s eyes lit up “ _chug chug chug_!” she chanted rhythmically, banging her hands on the table.

Dipper joined in, as Ford smirking took the pot from the table, poured and sculled his fourth and last cup of coffee for the morning.

“ _Chug chug chug_!” chimed both twins

“Hey now! What did I tell you kids about ominous chanting without me?” Stan called out, appearing at the entrance to the kitchen in his singlet and suit pants. He'd evidently been in the middle of ironing his shirt and jacket.

“We're trying to get Grunkle Ford to finish his coffee quicker.” Explained Mabel, the picture of innocence.

“Good idea sweetie, make him hurry his dinosaur butt up.”

Ford rolled his eyes. “We are the same age, ya knucklehead. “

Stanley snorted at that “Oh I get it. _Now_ we’re the same age, what happened to your ‘time is relative’ shtick, eh? Time is only a meaningless concept when you don't wanna admit that you’re the younger twin. “

“Ford is the younger twin?” crowed Mabel, grinning around her last mouthful of cereal.

“Well- I- Uh-“was Ford’s only defence.

Stanley’s eyes sparkled. “You bet he is, honey, by _six and a half_ -minutes!”

“Alpha twins!” cried Mabel holding up both her palms for a high-ten.

Her Grunkle’s smile split into an even bigger shit-eating grin and he clapped his hands against hers “Alpha twins!” he whooped, punching the air and scooping up his niece in his arms with another loud hoot.

“Mabel my girl, you're on car loading duty with me. Let's leave these _betas_ here to finish up their grub.”  He put her back down on her feet.

“Okay Grunkle Stan! But can I sit on the car roof?”

There was a pause as Stanley considered this. After a while he shrugged. “I don't see why not.”

The both bounded out of the kitchen, with varying degrees of enthusiasm.

Ford groaned, fingers pressed to the bridge of his nose, above where his glasses sat.

Dipper smiled, feeling sympathetic, as he finished off his own breakfast.

“Just let them have their thing, Grunkle Ford, it makes them happy and that in turn makes them easier to live with.” His nephew laid a reassuring hand on his arm.

“You're a wise boy, Dipper, wise beyond your years.”

“Not really, I just have twelve years’ experience of sharing my life with my sister. You develop some insight into which things to press and which to let go.”

“Ten minute call, you two!” Came Stan’s voice from outside. “Get your A’s in gear.”

 Stanford groaned longer and louder, this time. “Well, I have seventeen years’ experience of living with _him_.” He said, “and it is my professional opinion, that if we’re both getting roped into this family trip we better get our acts together. “ Ford stood up, taking his mugs to the sink. “If we don’t stick to schedule he’ll get stroppy.”

Dipper nodded sagely and pushed back his chair moving to help his great uncle with the dishes.

 

* * *

 

If living with both Grunkles under one roof had been taxing enough for Mabel and Dipper, they weren’t prepared to deal with all four of them being stuck in Stan’s car for several hours. Mabel still held a quiet hope that a common goal like trying to find directions would help them put aside their differences for a short time.

It did not.

They’d not even left the city border of Gravity Falls before the squabbling broke out.

“I can’t help you with the map if you don’t tell me where we’re going, Stanley.”

“And I can’t tell you anythin’ if you don’t shut your piehole!”

 Two hands, eleven fingers, tap-tap-tapping in stereo. Stanley’s fingers against the Steering wheel, Ford's against the dash.

“Grunkle Stan?” asked Mabel.

“Yes, pumpkin?”

“Where are we going on this road trip or is it still a surprise?”

“You know the weathervane on top of the Shack?”

“The one that says ‘thaw’?’ Said Mabel, all doe-eyed and innocent.

“I-it’s supposed to say _what_.” Stanley said frowning.

“ _What’s it supposed to say_?” both twins chimed simultaneously, with matching grins. They exchanged hi-fives.

“You two cut that out.” Their grunkle snapped, trying to hide his own smile. “None of that Shining nonsense in my car.”

The twins were still laughing amongst themselves.

“Yeah, yeah. You got me.” Stanley groaned, glancing briefly over his shoulder as he merged lanes. “I wasn’t done explaining. The weathervane is like a logo of the shack, right?”

“I thought that was a question mark?” said Dipper, straightening the brim of his hat, to keep the sun out of his eyes.

Mabel shook her head. “- I thought it was a snowglobe!”

Stan snorted, “No, you’re both wrong. It’s the weathervane… at least I think it should be.”

“But the weathervane got damaged.” Piped up Mabel. “Like the rest of Gravity Falls did, when the all the Gravity fell.”

Her brother made a strangled noise of disgust. “God, Mabel. How long have you been holding on to that pun?”

She considered this, “At least a week.” She said, glowing like the morning sun.

Dipper rested his face in his hands. “I want you to know it was terrible.”

“Yeah I love you too, brobro.” She said beaming.

“Back to the matter at hand you two,” said Stanford adding his two cents for once. “Ley, are you seriously telling me you’re dragging the entire family across the country for a weathervane?”

Stanley made a soft ‘tsch’, noise of annoyance.

“No, Einstein. I’m dragging them across the _state_. The store I got it made at is down near Medford.” He shrugged his eyes still on the road. “It’s only four or five hours.”

“Five hours!?” groaned the twins and Ford in unison.

“Oh relax. In the interest of family harmony, I think I’m gonna let you both choose _one_ attraction to stop at on the way, nothing expensive, ya hear? I’m not made of money.”

“Evidently.” Sneered Ford.

“Yeah laugh it up, butt munch, someone’s had to be paying off your mortgage the last three decades.”

Ford crossed his arms across his chest, lips in a thin line. “No one asked you to do that, though, did they?”

“Haha! Butt munch.” Mabel giggled to herself in an attempt to ignore the fighting. “Butt. Munch.”

Her great uncle sniggered. “Yeah, you like that one kid? There’s more where that came from.”

“Stanley, behave!” Ford sounded like an exhausted housewife and they hadn't even been traveling longer than ten minutes.

“Make me, Poindexter. My car, my rules.”

Stanford made a guttural noise of disgust, and turned his attention to staring out the window at the scrolling Oregon countryside.

In the back seat Mabel tapped her brother on the shoulder.

“How’re you feeling today, brobro?” She asked, face kind and full of concern.

Dipper shrugged, “I’m awake, so that’s something I guess.”

His sister’s face split into a grin. She gestured out the window. “Isn’t this great? The open road. It’s so _romantic_.” she said, her eyes huge and dark.

Dipper pulled a face, laughing awkwardly. “Dude, Mabel, don’t be gross. What’s so romantic about being stuck for hours in a tiny car with your brother and two uncles?

“Ewww” she giggled “No, not that kind of romance… I meant like the spirit of adventure! The _open road_ , Dipper! What with the highway stretching out ahead of us and all these rolling fields of corn and hay and um…” She peered out her window seeking inspiration.

“More Corn?” Offered Stanley pointing out the driver’s side window

“Oh, corn.” Snorted Dipper. “The romance. I’m swooning.” His sister smacked him on the arm.

Mabel blew a raspberry at him. “You know that’s not what I meant!”

Ford chuckled, it was a rarely heard laugh, genuinely soft and amused. It was startling enough to make his twin do a double take, taking his eyes off the road for a split second to check it was indeed Stanford making that laughing noise.

“I think you’ve mixed up romantic and romanticised, there m’dear.” He said looking back over at his shoulder at his great niece.

“Yeah! See? Grunkle Ford knows what I mean!” Said Mabel poking her brother in the arm again.

They were maybe an hour away from home tops when Mabel spotted a sign on the turnpike.

“Arts and Crafts Fair!?” She shrieked at a frequency not meant for human ears. She continued to read off the sign in loud screeching tones. “Homemade Goods! Craft Supplies! Fortune Telling! Face painting! _Archery!_?”

“One of those things is not like the other.” Muttered Ford to his brother who at least smiled..

“Grunkle Stan! I'd like to cash in my choice right now!” Something in her voice suggested she was gonna beat us horse until it was dead. “And it's not too far out of way either.”

Stan glanced at her in the rear view mirror. “Ugh. You only get one vote, Mabel. Are ya sure this is what you want?”

As a response Mabel pulled off her pale green sweater that had a butterfly pattern on the neck, underneath she wore a white t-shirt that bore a colourful design with the words “Piedmont Craftpalooza Champion 2012”

“That means yes.” Added Dipper, with a sigh. “Mabel knows what Mabel wants.”

 

* * *

 

“Look at this place!” cried Mabel, practically skipping out of the parking lot once they’d finally got a place, sprawled out in front of them in the grounds of what looked like a closed high school basketball court, all concrete and faded markings was lots of little stalls and tents each with their own wares and goods on offer.

 Middle aged woman and older men with white beards ambled around leisurely.

‘Homemade wraps and scarves’ read one stall’s sign. ‘Natural Fibres, No Chemical Dyes.’

‘Handsewed stuffed animals” read another 'homemade soy candles.'

Dipper let out a loud exaggerated groan in Ford’s direction “This is it.” He swooned dramatically. “This is how we die, at a craft fair.”

His Grunkle let out a dry chuckle. “We don't have to stay that long” he assured him. “I'm not convinced your sister's attention span can last much longer that a couple of hours anyway.”

“Hey, stop complaining Dipper.” Called out Mabel bouncing over.

“They have hot dogs here! And cotton candy! And um... Like cool rocks and stuff.” She said pointing out a stall that specialised in crystals. “And Face Painting!” squealed Mabel pointing to a sign in the distance and charging ahead a tiny bull in a mint green sweater.

Stanley signed loudly and quickened his pace to follow her, keeping her in his line of sight.

Ford and Dipper followed at a much more relaxed pacing losing their respective twins in a stream of traffic. When they did catch up to them again Mabel was lying on the ground in front of the face-painting stand with her arms and head pulled up inside her sweater and only her legs left sticking out.

“She just snapped her head in like a turtle.” Remarked Stanley scratching his fez-less head. “C’mon kid, don't do this here."

“What's wrong with her?” Asked Ford glancing between his cowering great niece and the confused man in clown paint behind the face-painting stand.

“Is she okay, Mister?” the clown guy asked Stanley. He shrugged with both shoulders and made an ‘I don't know’ gesture with open upward-facing palms.

 Ford frowned, concerned “Mabel, is everything alright?” he asked.

 Dipper bent over and reassuringly patted the wriggling sweater being at his feet.

 “It's safe you know, dumdum.” he said. Mabel just curled herself more into a ball.

Dipper knelt down beside her and leant a supportive hand on her shoulder.

“She’ll be fine” He said confidently. “It’s just Mabel isn’t exactly _a fan_ of clowns.”

Stanley rolled his eyes “Ugh, this again. Didn't that whole animated fiasco snap you out of it?”

Mabel shook her head from inside her sweater cocoon leant against her brother for support,

Dipper sighed. “That was her fear of old timey Claymation, Grunkle Stan. I dunno if you know this but people _can_ be scared of _multiple_ things.For Mabel there's clowns, thunderstorms, abandonment, fire, those plasticky things on the end of shoelaces and um…what was the newest one?” he paused, wracking his brain. “Oh right! Shag carpeting.”

“That last one is your fault,” muttered Stan to his brother.

“Me? What did _I_ do?” whined Ford.

His brother smirked. “You have the worst taste in furniture.”

Ford pursed his lips in the closet thing to a pout he could manage. “Hey!”

Stanley bent over ignoring the violent crack his back made, and he helped pull his trembling great niece to her feet. Brushing off the dirt and gravel from her clothes and coaxing her out of her sweater cowl. He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, speaking to her in a steady soft voice.

“Look, Mabel sweetie, I can punch the clown if it’d make you feel better but I mean you can just as easily avoid him. Why don’t you two go check out the other side of the fair first and by then the clown will be gone?  Here’s $10.”

He pulled out a bill from his wallet and closed his niece’s hand around it.

She wrapped her arms around his neck then pulled Dipper along behind her moving as far away from the clown as she could.

“You’re…being _nice_?” Said Ford, as the twins wandered off in the other direction. He sounded sceptical “No bribes or catches?”

“Yeah? I mean they’re my kids, what a guy can’t get a little soft in his old age?

“A hypothetical guy can do as he pleases, with you it’s just a little unsettling, is all.”

“You really don’t remember anythin’ good about me do ya?” Stanley muttered under his breath.

“Excuse me?”

“I said, ‘go suck an egg, Poindexter’.”

Ford smiled, if a little grudgingly. “Much better.”

 

* * *

 

Dipper Pines could withstand lots of things. Demonic Possession and the subsequent nightmares it brought, hordes of undead, vengeful spirits and even mutant spider women.

There was a line however that he did not want to cross and he was drawing it now right here on this sunny August morning in small town Oregon, he was drawing the line at listening to his twin sister preach about knitting sweater patterns to a flock of sympathetic middle aged crafts women.

Dipper was drawing the damn line right here and now.

“Uh, Mabel?” he said interrupting his sister's current tirade about something called a ‘reverse stockinette stitch’ “I'm just going to go have a wander around the stalls over there, alright?” he said, moving before she had a chance to stop him.

“Ok Dipdop but don't go too far without me!” she called out after them before returning to her knitting disciples.

He wandered, disinterested for a while through more candle stalls and sweater shops before he came to stand in front of an odd looking tent shaped stall. A woman called out to him.

“You, dear child, you look like a lad invested in the unknown wonders of the world.” The woman stood outside a tent bearing the banner “Madame Zara: Tarot and Palmistry.”

She had pale skin, bleached blond dreadlocks, decorated with purple and blue beads.

She was wearing baggy cotton trousers under a purple and gold brocade tunic. Dipper had seen a dozen ‘practitioners’ like her back home in California especially around their grandparents’ house in San Francisco.

“No thanks,” said Dipper, “nothing personal but I’m not falling for that sell.”

Zara smiled, kindly. “Oh but I don't sell anything, I trade in occult information.”

“You can call it whatever you like me and my sister already spent all our money on fairground food.”

“So you wouldn't be interested in a free reading on you future?”

“Completely free?” he asked, voice wary. “No catches?”

“No catches.” Said the woman, he assumed was Madame Zara. She held up both hands in a sign of peace.

Even though his judgement told him this was probably a scam, he justified he had nothing better to do and he knew from experience Mabel would probably take a while going on about sweater stuff.

“Sure I guess.” He said taking the seat she pulled out for him at the collapsible camping table covered with a purple crushed velvet tablecloth.

“So, uh what do you do with the tarot?” Said Dipper, rubbing the back of his neck, feeling awkward.

“That depends, dear boy. What is it you wish to learn about? Your Schooling? Your Relationships? Your Future?”

“Ah, the future in general is probably a good place to start, I guess.” He said biting the inside of his lip, his leg starting to bounce. “Is that too vague or...” he trailed off mid-sentence,

“Not at all.” Said the fortune teller, splitting and shuffling the deck like a Vegas dealer. “The future it is.”

She handed the deck to him. "I need you to hold the card in your hands for a bit, to charge the cards with your energy."

 _Oh boy,_ what had he gotten himself into here? Dipper thought to himself, _this had better not be a cover from some Scientology type thing. His mom would kill him._

He pressed his palms against the cards before passing them back to Madame Zara.

“Thank you, darlink.” Said the woman with the trace of an accent that totally wasn't there before. Dipper suppressed the overwhelming desire to roll his eyes at her.

She placed five cards face up in a cross formation. The middle card caught his attention straight away.

The thirteenth card of the major arcana. Death.

He must have taken a sharp inhale of breath because she was staring at him, gauging his reaction.

“Oh dear, oh my dear boy. This is not very good at all, is it?” she said her face paler than before.

“Does that card mean I'm gonna die?” he hissed his voice sounding slightly winded, his pulse beating in his throat.

“Not…necessarily,” Zara was about as reassuring as a phone call in the middle of the night. “But that is indeed one interpretation of the card.”

He wasn't even thirteen yet, and he'd already defeated a demon what awful being was gonna be the thing to finish him off? Was it possibly worse that Bill? The thought sent a cold shiver down his spine.

“When?” he whispered, hands clammy. He didn’t want to know that answer.

“It is hard to truly-“she began but was interrupted by a grey-haired face sticking through the entrance to the tent.

Stanley Pines, puffing slightly and looking very pissed off.

“ _Oy_ kid, you're kidding me you've lived with the biggest hack in Oregon for near on two months and now you’re wanderin’ off and listenin’ to a fortune teller? How dumb can you be?” his uncle made what Dipper’s dad called ‘The Noise’. It was an angry Yiddish noise of tired frustration; the unholy child of a groan, a grunt and a sigh. His grandmother liked to use ‘the noise’ when she had no child-friendly words to express her annoyance. It seemed her big brother was no different.

Dipper shook his head, holding up a reassuring hand.

“I was just looking, Stan. Anyway, she said it was free.” He said.

“That’s what they all say. Heck kid even _I_ say that. Remember the free pizza?”

“Grunkle Stan, you never gave away free pizza.”

His great uncle gave him a look, “Exactly.” He drawled.

Dipper got it. “Oh.” He glanced down at the floor. He'd been scammed.

Stanley took a quick look around the tent, his eyes coming to rest on the spread of cards on the table.

“Aww come on, look here toots. What you've got there is what in poker they'd call a four of a kind, in here it's known as a constellation, get it, like in the sky or whatever, you got four fours. “

“Excuse me sir, I think I know what I’m doing, thank you.” Zara scoffed.

“There’s only two cards with a four on it, Grunkle Stan.”

‘Yeah well, that's because you haven’t been absorbing this numerology malarkey since infancy. The death card is number thirteen, see? And if ya take the one from thirteen add it to the three and you've got another card that boils down to four.” He picked up the death card from the spread and laid it next to the four of cups and the four of wands.

 “Then, the fourth card in the major arcana is this fella-” He poked the remaining card, a regal male figure in a giant throne.

“-the king or the pope… I dunno whatever his name is.”

“The emperor.” Interrupted Madame Zara with a tone that could peel wallpaper.

Stanley grunted. “Yeah, him. See the number four here above his chair?”

 He held the card in front of Dipper’s face, his finger just underneath the Roman numerals IV.

“Woah, you’re right?”

“So he counts as four and you drew him the right way up- I think that's a good thing?” Stanley looked over at the fortune teller for confirmation.

“The emperor represents a father figure and the need for structure in one’s life. There is no good or bad in the tarot, sir only a spectrum of possible experiences and outcome.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know energies and harmony and _blah blah blah_. Save it Sally”

Madame Zara scowled, crossing her arms. “Excuse me?”

“But what about the card called Death?” Dipper interrupted, pointing at the garish-looking card. On its face a skeleton in armour sat upon a white horse surrounded by dying, prostrated people amongst skulls and roses. “I mean, you have to admit that _seems_ pretty ominous, Grunkle Stan.

Stanley harrumphed to himself. “Well you can stick the word death on anything to make it spookier, squirt. In this case it just means change, a transition, some kind big event. It’s like a joker. A dud card, like a free pass you can use to make people see whatever they want because well, I mean things _change_ kid, that's basically an inevitable thing in life.” He shrugged, unbothered.

 “The death part’s really just smoke and mirrors, meant to scare ya. It hardly ever is interpreted as literally meaning death.”

“Why would she say I was gonna die in the first place?” Dipper turned to scowl at the woman across the table from him. “What you just like _scaring_ kids or something?” She shrank under his gaze.

“Think about it, Dipper. If she were to look at these cards and say you see I dunno—a father figure,” he pointed at the emperor card, “an argument” he pointed at the four of wands , “your 13th birthday” the death card. He frowned at the four of cups “and uhh… Some kind of deep thinkin’—well none of that will sell whatever it is you’re selling, will it?”

The women’s face wrinkled up like a prune, if this was a cartoon Dipper was pretty sure he’d see steam coming out her ears. Stan waved a dismissive hand.

Nah, I get it as an esteemed businessman myself, I get, you got to have a demand right? Put the fear of God into them so they’ll spend more. I can respect that much. You gotta predict their death first so you can sell them salvation at twice the price.  What I don't take kindly to is you doing it to my kid. He’s twelve. He should be playing carnival games with his sister not contemplating certain death, I mean who the f-fudge says  that kind of schlock to a kid?”

“Grunkle Stan, its fine. Let’s go.” Dipper pulled on Stanley’s lapel.

“Oh and lady-“Dipper groaned audibly. Now they were in for it. Stan wasn’t gonna fight a fortune teller was he?

The woman turned back around on her heel, face like a hurricane, ready to lose her temper

“I’m just saying, maybe you should read up on your cards or somethin’ my Ma gives better readings than that and she’s been dead twenty years.”

With that said Stan hurried Dipper out of the tent, his hands covering the boy’s ears to protect him from the rather creative string of cuss-words the woman directed at them.

“That was amazing, Grunkle Stan! I didn't know you knew all about the tarot?” Dipper turned around eyes starry.

“Yeah, yeah, kiddo, keep it down.” said Stanley. “You breathe a word of this to your Great Uncle Ford and I'll hang you from the flagpole by your pants, capiche?”

Dipper blanched at that.  “Capiche.” He echoed.

“Good boy. Now run along and find your sister, yeah? Have some normal kid fun.”

“Where'd she go?”

“I dunno, I told Poindexter he was in charge of watching her.”

Dipper found his great uncle before he found his sister, and they weren't together like they were supposed to be.

 Stanford was standing at a display of various crystals, minerals and incense. He was peering over the top of his glasses at a little blue stone he held in his fingers.

“Great Uncle Ford?” he said, coming up beside him.

“Look at these, Dipper.” Said Ford holding up the stone to the light. “There’s no way that’s real lapis lazuli,” he scoffed to himself. “I mean if it’s anything worthwhile it’s probably just sodalite dyed.

Dipper frowned glancing between the stone and his glowering uncle.

“Uh, Great Uncle Ford. Wasn’t Mabel with you?”

 Ford nodded, trawling through the crystal boxes. “Yes, yes. She’s just over there.”

“Over where?”

His uncle gestured vaguely westward. Mabel was nowhere to be seen and Stanford didn’t look like he was going to pay attention to his role as caretaker any time soon.

“Okaaay?” Sighed Dipper pulling a face of frustration. “I guess, I’ll just go get her then.”

“Mm hm. See you.” Replied his great uncle, still not looking up. “Ugh, yeah right. If that’s tourmaline then I’m the queen of England.” He muttered to himself.

Dipper rolled his eyes and wandered up into the flow of other fairgoers, and headed down the hill where Ford had pointed.

Dipper found his sister just where he expected to find her, at the archery range, attempting to cosy up to the much older instructor with the Mabel Pines signature flirting move: smiling while blinking really fast.

He chuckled to himself, coming up beside his twin as she strung an arrow onto a longbow about the same height as her.

“Mabel, are you sure more weapons’ training is a good idea? I mean you already have a grappling hook. How many deadly weapons does a twelve year old girl need anyway?”

His sister beamed, sunshine spilling out the corners of her mouth. “All of them Dipper! I will never rest until I can achieve my dream of becoming a master spy slash guerrilla knitter and chalk artist by night.”

The scruffy baggy pants wearing instructor came back to check on his student.

“Who's this, Mabel?” Asked the teen with negative interest in his voice. He straightened out her arm and checked her posture.

“That's Dipper, my twin. Dipper this is Raymond, he teaches Archery, the hero’s sport.” She waved her hands through the air like she was carving a rainbow into the air.

Dipper took one look at his sister’s dramatic hand gestures, her fuchsia cheeks and her starry eyes _. Oh boy, here we go again_ , he thought. _Brace for impact._

“Aw, she your twin sister?” Raymond asked looking at Dipper with a noticeable smirk. Dipper clenched his jaw, and rolled his eyes. Outwardly unbothered, inwardly swinging slugs at this loser’s head.

“Real Funny.” He muttered. He shoved his hands in his shorts’ pockets and tried to play it cool for Mabel’s sake.

 His sister did not have a good record with men, did she? They were either jerks or supernatural entities in disguise, still he had to give it to her she had more success with dating then he’d ever had. 

This however was not one of those successes. As Mabel sensing a slight against her brother's gender, in one graceful flowing movement, locked her sight onto Raymond and fired her loaded bow once.

She had already restrung another arrow before she paused to check he wasn't actually injured.  The arrow had narrowly missed the guy’s jugular, but her aim was good enough that it didn't pierce skin and instead hit the wood behind him.

Mabel continued firing, fourteen more arrows until Raymond was strung up awkwardly attached to the target by arrows pointing through his baggy jeans.

Dipper flinched, moving up to his sister to stay her hand. “Mabel!” he called out.  “Mabel can you please stop shooting at him? It’s kinda overkill now.”

Mabel glanced over at him, her eyes tracked him up and down checking he was okay. She lowered her bow and nodded, smile tranquil but her eyes fierce and wild. Dipper knew true fear and he saw it on Raymond’s face.

“Sorry!” she called to the man pinned to the wall by fifteen arrows. “It's a reflex.” She hesitated and shook her head hair flying around her face. “No, you know what? I'm not that sorry actually, because news flash Raymond, you’re a total jerk.”

She dropped her brow, turned on her heel and threw her quiver back over her shoulder.

“Come on, brobro. We're leaving.” She said, looping her arm and her brother's together.

“Yeah good idea.” Muttered Dipper, aware of all the eyes on them. “I think we better hurry too.” He added, noting two large uniformed men rushing in their direction.  

 

* * *

 

“Grunkles! Stan, Ford. We need to go now!” Dipper came speeding towards the crystal stall up the hill from the archery range, dragging his sister behind him by the hand.

Not too far behind them were two security guards with zap guns. Running at full speed.

Stanley didn't even stop ask why he just grabbed two huge fistfuls of crystals from the display in front of him and stuffed them in his suit pockets.

 “Mush, Ford, Mush” he yelled to his brother, grabbing him by the back of the coat and pushing him forwards towards the parking lot.

Ford, unaccustomed as he was to the Pines family tradition of fleeing public events pursued by authorities was considerably more alarmed by this series of events, startled out of his geology nerd stupor.

“Dipper? Mabel? What's wrong, what's happening?” he cried being half pushed, half carried by his speeding twin.

“Mabel shot a guy fifteen times with a bow and arrow.” Said Dipper, who seemed to be unable to decide if he wanted to play it cool or just gush about how immensely impressed he was.

Even as he ran away he had a goofy smile playing on his lips, he didn’t let go of Mabel’s hand until they reached the parking lot.

“ **What**!?” cried Stanford, struggling as his brother continued to shove him into the car.

Stanley had the car in gear before Ford had even got his door shut.

“What he do? Honey, did he hit on you? Dipper are you looking out for your sister? Should we get him with the car?” Stan barked as he backed their way out of the parking lot.

“She was the one looking out for me, Stan” said Dipper, still smiling.

“Oh, Yeah?” Stan glanced back over his shoulder at his niece, sitting stone-faced in the back seat, her headband crooked and her hair all mussed.

“Ben Franklin, Grunkle Stan.” said Mabel, a rippling flame of rarely-seen righteous anger crossed her soft features.

“Oh.” Stanley nodded in the rear view mirror he set his jaw squarely and chanced a look at his nephew. “Say no more.”

“Benjamin Franklin?” Ford was struggling to keep up with the flow of conversation jumping from subject to subject like an ice floe. “What has he got to do with this?”

“He discovered static electricity.” Said Dipper with a red-faced smirk, staring out the car window.

Stanley grinned, playing along. “Yeah, yeah! And he's on the $100 bill!”

Mabel brushed her tangled hair out with her fingers. She smiled serenely at Ford, the picture of innocence.

”Wasn't he one of those triangle guys? She said, eyes soft and brown like Bambi.

Ford frowned, glanced “Triangle guys? Oh, you mean a Freemason?”

“Yeah. Them!” Mabel nodded.

Well yes, he was but that really doesn't answer my question.

“What was the question again, Grunkle Ford? I don't quite remember.”

 “Did you really shoot him fifteen times?”

“I lost count.” She said, all blameless smiles and braces. ”I didn’t break any skin. Anyway the first time was a reflex and the other fourteen were just to make sure I’d pinned his clothes to the wall.”

“I- I see. What did he do to deserve such a fate?”

“Broke the golden rule, Grunkle Ford. I mean it’s practically the law.’ Stanford nodded, still knowing absolutely nothing she was talking about.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Dipper?”

“What? Yeah I’m fine, Mabel. Don’t worry about it.” He paused. “Sorry that the guy that you liked turned to be a total loser, again.”

Mabel shrugged. “Eh, no biggie. He came from Portland anyway. It’d never have worked out.”

“Well on the bright side you got to be _totally awesome_! I mean, where did _that_ come from, William Tell?” he punched her on the arm grinning.

“I figured it was like bedazzling just deadlier.” She shrugged, blasé. “I was kinda right.”

“It was really cool of you, Mabel.” Her brother said softly. “Thanks.”

“Yeah, well you know it’s the golden rule. I’d do it again for you anytime, little bro.”

“Hey! Who are you calling little!?” He jumped at her straining his seatbelt poking her in the ribs and tickling her arms.

Mabel shrieked like a banshee giggling wildly trying to poke him back. “You're little, I'm practically dwarfing you.”

“It's a couple of millimetres difference it's not even important enough of a difference to be measured in imperial scale!”

Mabel snorted. “What was that’ Dipper?  I can't hear from you down there!” She let out another shriek when Dipper went in to tickle her again.

Stanley glared at the two of them in the rear view mirror

“Kids, kids no Cain and Abel stuff in the car.” He called out and the twins relented both giggling both happy to be a pair.

 

* * *

 

“What’s the golden rule they were on about?” Ford hissed at Stanley, later on in the drive when both kids were asleep. Dipper with his hat pulled down over his face to block out the sun and Mabel leant against him with her sweater balled up between them under her head like a pillow.

His brother smirked. Glancing at him briefly with a flicker of some emotion Ford couldn't place.

It was weird, as if seeing it made him feel something too. Almost nostalgic? Almost as if a smile and a glimmer in his brother's eye could smell like the salty New Jersey seaside air and sound like the roar inside a conch shell.

It made Ford feel… _uncomfortable_. He turned his attention back to the asphalt of the Oregon highway stretching out ahead in expanses of grey and green.

“Same as it always was when we were kids, Sixer.” Stan check the rear-view mirror to see the kids weren’t listening.

“Which is?”

“Stanley smiled again, sadder this time eyes back on the road, knuckles whitening against the steering wheel.

“It’s not exactly hard to guess.  The golden rule is nobody fucks with my twin but me.”

“ _Language_ , Stanley.”

“They’re asleep, Poindexter. Cool your jets.”

“What’s all this nonsense with all the Benjamin Franklin?”

“It’s not nonsense, he really is on the $100 bill.” Said his brother, still staring straight ahead. “Though perhaps you've never seen one of those.”

“You’re being purposely obtuse, Stanley.”

“How can I be when I don’t even know what that means?”

“Fine. Don’t tell me. I only come on this trip because of your immature blackmailing anyway.”

Stanley rolled his eyes. “It’s nothing you have to worry about, Ford. Don’t get all into a sulk about it.”

Ford sighed pinching the bridge of his nose. “A sulk? Stanley we are sixty-one years old, we’re not children anymore.”

His twin smirked to himself, eyes on the road “You could’ve fooled me.” He said with a sad smile.

 

* * *

 

They’d been on the move again for around three and a half hours now. Dipper’s butt was numb and all the songs on the radio had kind of blurred into one long guitar banjo fusion.

“Dipper.”  Hissed Mabel. He was staring out the window lost in thought, as they drove through roads lined with acres upon acres of apple and hazelnut orchards.  

He glanced back curious. “Yeah?” his head felt like it was full of cotton wool and he wasn’t sure if that was just the left over grogginess from sleeping in the car or the fact he hadn’t eaten anything but fairground hotdogs and cotton candy all day.

“Are you wearing your, _y’know what_?” She said and gestured with a hand across her own chest in a band.

Dipper glanced to the front seats, to where Ford was now driving while Stanley leant his head against the passenger seat window with his feet on the dash, possibly sleeping.

 He looked back to the concern on his sisters face, the ribbed pattern of her sweater cowl was embossed onto her cheek from where she'd been sleeping on it.

“Yeah, why?” he whispered back, self-consciously adjusting his T-shirt and vest.

Mabel stretched, clicking her neck loudly. “We've been travelling a while now, you should probably take it off.” She said.

Dipper flinched, wrapping his arms around himself, self-conscious.

“Shut up dude, I can’t do it here. It’s fine. “

 _“Dipper_ , Mom said you’re not supposed to wear it longer than 8 hours or it’ll hurt your ribs!”

Her brother rolled his eyes, Mabel was doing an excellent impression of their mother and he suspected she wasn't even trying.

“Well Mom’s not here. Besides it’s not an adult size, so it's not that tight, I can breathe fine.” He pulled at the layers of fabric against his chest as if to prove a point.

Mabel frowned, her lips curling in an exaggerated downturn. “Don't be dumb, your ribs are soft, you don't want to squish them.”

“What are you two conspiring about? You’re hissing like a couple of snakes!”  Said Stanley, evidently not dozing off as Dipper had originally thought.

He wrapped his arms tighter around himself. “It's Nothing.” He muttered, in a deeper-than-usual voice.

“Benjamin Franklin, Grunkle Stan.” Said Mabel, gently.

“Mabel! _puay utshay_!” her brother whispered, poking her  sharply in the ribs.

Stanley looked back over his shoulder. “Yeesh, again?  Dipper what do you need?”

His nephew stared out the window. “Nothing, Stan.  I'm fine, honest.” He tried to keep his voice as non-committal as he could manage.

Ford crinkled his forehead, bushy browned knitting together.

“What does Benjamin Franklin _mean_?” he asked again.

“Well ya see Stanford, he was one of the founding fathers of the United States.” Chimed in his twin in the smuggest voice possible.

Ford was about to fire back with some inane comeback but instead was interrupted by his great niece.

“Grunkle Ford,” she said, no nonsense and firm. “Dipper needs the restroom”

 _Ah_ , at least all the whispering made some sense to Stanford. “Is that right?”

Dipper groaned. “Mabel! Stop stressing, I can manage.”

Ford spotted a road sign, “There’s a gas station a couple of miles away, kids. Will that do?”

“Yes, Great Uncle Ford, that’s fine” Dipper said, sighing. He glanced over at his sister and stuck out his tongue. She just grinned back, satisfied he wasn't going to maim himself.

“It's getting late too, Stan.” Ford added taking his eyes off the road for a split second to steal a quick glance at his twin. “We should look up places nearby to stay for the night.” Stanley grunted in acknowledgment, busy staring out the window.

In the west the pink-tinged sun was slowly beginning to dip towards the horizon, spilling out its soft light across the sky in hues of peach and apricot.

Mabel pointed out her window. “Look Dip!  The clouds look like cotton candy”

Ford startled slightly at the camera shutter sound that went off as his niece took photograph of the sunset on her mobile phone.

“I'm gonna snapchat this Candy and Grenda!” she said. “Ooh and Nonna and Zaidie too!”

 _Modern technology is truly amazing,_ Ford thought fondly to himself, attention fixed firmly on the highway in front of him.

There was a tremendous growling noise from the back seat, everyone except Ford turned to look at Mabel, her cheeks slowly turning the same colour as the clouds.

“What?” she said, defensive.

“I think you've got food on the brain, dumbo.” Dipper chuckled.

“Can we get gas station burritos for dinner, Grunkle Stan?”

Stanely in the passenger seat let out a snort.

“With that kinda racket, I think we should definitely get you something.”

“Aw yusss!” Mabel’s fist pumped the air. “Gas station burritos.”

 

* * *

 

They’d stopped at a cheap motel at about ten o clock at night, both Grunkles were tired from their respective driving stints and the twins were crashing from the energy spike their sugary soda from dinner had given them. They booked a shared room, a double bed, a couch and twin singles.

Ford and Stanley were squabbling again. Not about anything of any consequence, the tired jabs of two children, left unchecked for so long with no parents there to tell them to pack it in.

They fought about who did the most driving, they fought over who got the double bed, and they fought over who paid for dinner. The last argument was about whose job it was to get the ice. It was a hot summer night and they didn’t want to pay for the expensive bottled water in the mini-fridge.

The Stan twins stood across from each other in a cartoon standoff. Stanley sat down on the double bed and moved to fold Mabel’s clothes where she’d thrown them on the motel floor and place them neatly in a pile on her bed.

“Oh, for the love of- I'll get the Ice!” snapped Ford grabbing the bucket and letting the door slam behind him.

Stanley held up his hands in his defense “What? What did I say?” he said looking at Mabel who was watching him from the bathroom where she was brushing her teeth. She shrugged, her mouth was too full of toothpaste for her to speak.

“Maybe you should just give him some space.” Suggested Dipper already in bed, his book lying open on the covers in front of him.

Stanley shrugged, a little hurt. “Okay, but if he's not back in five minutes I'm going after him.” He grumbled.

 

* * *

 

Ford wasn’t back in five minutes, he wasn’t back in ten. Content the kids were safely tucked in bed Stanley wandered out into the warm night air to see where his brother had got to.

He found him not to far out of the doorway, leaning against a concrete wall staring up at the night sky, a bucket of ice melting by his feet. The sky was unpolluted here, the constellations bright and clear.

Stan cleared his throat. “What's your beef, Sixer?”

His brother flinched at the nickname turning back to look at him, his face forming a tired mask of anger, “Oh I don't know, Why did you even _make me_ come with you, Stanley, if you don't want me here?” he hissed.

Stan looked away to avoid meeting his brother’s eyes, the same as his own.

“Who says I don't want you here?”

Stanford laughed at that, a barking laugh of vexation and distress. “All the nagging, the inside jokes, all this Benjamin Franklin nonsense is that meant to make me feel like I’m _welcome_ here?”

Stanley threw up his arms in frustration. “Oh _well done,_ Sixer. You’ve somehow managed to make an issue that has literally _nothing_ to do with you, all about yourself. Again. Look it's not that big a deal, let it go.”

His brother sighed. “If it's not a big deal than tell me what it means, you know if it's just a _joke_ to you.”

“I can't tell you.” Stanley huffed, looking away again.

“Why not? Because you don't _trust_ me? Because you need to keep a secret?” As Ford’s voice increased in pitch he stepped closer into his brother's space.

“No, because the information is not mine to dish out nor will it ever be. I mean, _shit_ Ford. Give it a rest would ya?”

“If it's not yours, then who are you keeping secrets for, huh? _Huh_?”  He pushed him right in the solar plexus with both hands those were fighting moves, his twin knew it. Stanford wasn't fucking around.

Stanley pushed him back, then stepped further back, out of his reach. He pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration then held up his hands. _I don't want to fight you,_ screamed that body language. _Don't be an egg._

“It’s not rocket science, Nerd Lord, use your _superior_ skills of deduction.” he said “- and _maybe_ you can calm  the hell down, yeah?”

He could see the logic running though his brother’s brain like gears in clockwork.

“The kids. One of the kids. Which one?” Ford paused. “It's Dipper isn't it? He told you to keep secrets from me.”

Stan nodded, he kept his shoulders squared, arms at his side, ready if he wanted to start something but not really that keen on it.

“Yeah, and if your own ego is more important to you than the safety and comfort of a twelve year boy  than I take my hat off to you, Sixer, you've managed to out-asshole Dad.”

“I-I….” Stanford’s face fell but his outrage demanded he get the last word, Stan was not going to vilify him this time. He squeezed his fingernails into his palms until he drew blood, the pain from that ramped up his anger again but Stanley kept talking before he got a chance to say anything.

Stan ran a hand back through his grey hair, pushing it back. “Look, I know you. You can yell and stomp all you want about how I know nothing and I don't give a shit about this family if it’ll help you let off some steam, but leave the kids out of this, they've done nothing wrong. I _know_ you and I know how you upset get when people are leaving you out of things and I want to put ya at ease but I still can't tell you.

“How _upset_ I get? Are you calling me _paranoid_?” Ford’s voice was increasing in pitch again, Stan’s boxer’s hands twitched at his side.  No, he needed to keep this cool, for the kids’ sakes.

“That depends, did you have another reason to have a backlog of anti-psychotic pills in your house and a shrink’s info stuck to your bedroom mirror, a mirror might I add, which like all the other mirrors in your house, was covered over.  Look, I'm not accusing you of anything, this isn't some kinda interrogation. I’m not the mob. I'm your brother and to be honest it made a lot of sense looking back on it. “

The noise that spilled from Ford’s lips wasn't a cry or a laugh but a raw guttural noise of surprise like a wounded animal. He played it off as a dry mirthless chuckle.

“Makes Sense? _Makes Sense!_? Nothing about my wretched life makes any sense at all! You don't get it, Stan, you can't possibly understand, no one ever _fucking_ understands, do they? I’m just a crazy old joke to you. You don’t even give me space to breathe. I’m always your punchline!”

“No, I - of course not Ford, I just told ya, you're my brother. “

“I'm not the same seventeen year old kid you can just walk all over, you know?!!”

“Well Good, because _I'm_ not the same seventeen year old kid you _abandoned_.”

“You took _my life_ from me, Stanley! My name, my house, my family.”

“What was I supposed to do? I worked thanklessly for thirty-three years just to give the real you back to them, because I thought they needed you more than they ever did me. But you know what? They're _my_ family too, you ass!” the Then quieter, less aggressively he added.  “ _You're_ my family too.”

Ford made a noise of frustration. He wiped his bloody palms on his trousers.

 “This conversation is over, Stanley! I've had enough!” He stomped off into the night leaving the ice bucket, half full of melting ice on the concrete floor in front of the doorway.

His brother scowled. “There you go again, leaving your family behind!” he called after him.

It was a cheap shot but he was passed the point of caring, like a scorned teenager he flipped off his brother’s quickly retreating shadow.

Stanley came back inside the motel room soon after.  He glanced over at the twins’ beds to see if they'd been woken by the shouting. One bed was empty, the covers were rolled back and there was no Mabel where Mabel should have been.

She wasn’t far away though, she had crossed the room and climbed into bed with her brother, the two of them curled up like frightened kittens. Dipper’s arms were wrapped around her tight protecting her and not letting go. It was hard to make out at first but Stan could make out a soft repetitive sound, at first Stan thought Mabel was sniffing, like she had a cold, but she wasn't.

She was crying.

Stanley took a few tentative steps towards the kids’ bed.

“Oh, sweetheart. Oh Mabel, I'm sorry you had to hear that honey.”

To his internal disgust and spiralling self-loathing she flinched and shrank away from his voice, whimpering.

“Don't, Stan. Jus’ leave her alone.” Dipper’s voice, though barely above a whisper, growled raw with something primal and defensive.

Stanley nodded and sat back down on the motel room’s double bed. He felt huge and hollow, like Paul Bunyan, he kept trying to make things better but his big dumb giant hands kept breaking everything he touched, over and over. Breaking things: that was all he was good for.

After about five minutes of the three of them sitting silently dejected and upset in the dark, Mabel said something, but her tear-soaked voiced was too quiet and muffled by blankets and her brother for Stanley to hear what she said.

“I'm not going anywhere,” Dipper replied, still hugging her.  “Don't worry about me.”

Like some kind of kobold or little shadow sprite she slipped silently out of her brother's grip and kicked back the bedclothes.

She tiptoed her way through the dark room to where Stanley was sitting, staring at the floor. She stood in front of him, quiet as a mouse.

He looked up at her; this little blotchy-faced, red-eyed Angel of Mercy.

 Stanley opened his arms and Mabel leaned in against his chest hugging him.

“I'm so sorry, _bubbele_.” He said, using the pet name his mother and sister used all the time when their kids were small. Little grandmother. It sounded a lot cuter in Yiddish.

 Mabel hugged him tighter, still crying but her breathing was steadier now.

“Me too, Grunkle Stan. Me too.” She said, sniffling into his chest.

He picked at the strands of brown hair that were still clinging to her wet cheeks, and he did what Stanley Pines always did when he needed to push through the pain: he smiled.

“C’mon, honey. Let me go get you a tissue to blow your nose on, then it’s back to bed with you.”

Mabel nodded, and before she finally let go she gave him a tiny peck on the cheek.

* * *

 

The twins ended up sharing the single bed originally intended for Dipper, Mabel was still upset and she wouldn't let her brother out of her reach. 

They were not strangers to sharing a bed, they often top and tailed when they went to stay at their other grandparents’ house near San Bernardino, though at 12 they were both getting too big for it.

Stanley had originally planned to take the double bed and vindictively exile his brother to the couch, but now he thought better of it and took the other bed Mabel wasn't using.

When Ford came back it was near three in the morning. He opened thedoor quietly, not expecting anybody to be awake to notice.

His nephew’s head popped up in the darkness.

“Grunkle Ford?” He whispered, sleep slurring his speech.

“Dipper, you're still awake.”

“I need to talk to you, can we have a word outside?”

Ford hesitated, he glanced at the glowing red digits on the bedside digital clock.  2:53am.

“It's almost 3am, my boy.”

“ _Great Uncle_ _Ford_. “ Dipper’s voice was urgent, and it was angry.

The older man sighed. “Sure just bring a jacket, the air’s cooled down a lot.”

Dipper, quite intentionally and as an act of defiance, didn't listen and followed him outside into the cold.

They stood a ways away from the motel door, closer to the parking lot where they wouldn’t risk waking their siblings or any other guests.

Ford took a deep slow breath before he spoke.

“Look if this is about before…Stanley was partly right, about me being paranoid. I won't scare you with the medical talk but I’ll admit yes, I do have periods of delusional thinking and paranoia. I do try to keep it under control, I promise I’m not a threat to you.”

His nephew nodded, glancing down at his feet. “I know, I don’t care what you have. It doesn't make a difference to me.”

Ford’s brows shot up. “Surely you have questions.” He sounded nervous, uncertain even.

Dipper bit back a barrage of acerbic comments phrased in question form. This wasn't the time to be childish.

“No.” he said simply.

“Really? No doubts at all? Not even about Bill?  I mean I’d understand if you doubted my experiences. I'm sure I would too, in your position.”

Dipper shook his head vehemently, shaking sleep-mussed brown curls.  “I don't doubt your experiences, nor do I doubt mine.”

Ford raised his bushy eyebrows again, “You don't?! Then what's the matter?”

Dipper bit the inside of his lip, looking away. “I need you to leave Stan alone.”

“What?” Ford let out an incredulous chuckle, but his face was devoid of humour, deep lines carved into his forehead.

“I need _you_ to leave _Stan_ alone.” His great-nephew repeated, his voice like a glacier: cold, ancient and unmoving. He stared him dead in the eye.

“What do you mean? I hardly think that's any of your business, Dipper.” Stanford tried to wriggle out of the eye contact, but Dipper wouldn't let him.

There was a sharpness to Ford’s words, almost warning-like: _Don't_. Said that tone, _don’t go there, my boy. Let sleeping dogs lie._

“Not three hours ago, you and your brother had a screaming match in earshot of the kids you’re supposed to be looking after. During which I just had to lie there feeling awful  and make comforting noises while my sister, _my best friend in the world,_ cried herself to sleep and _you_ don't think this is any of _my_ business!?”

He realised how shrill his voice was getting, dangerously close to a feminine pitch.  He took a deep shaky breath and toned it down and held his hands up in a sign of peace.

“Look if it’ll stop this petty feud I'll tell you what the deal with the stupid Benjamin Franklin jokes is, but know I do so _under duress_ because- well because I shouldn't _have_ _to_ tell you if it makes me uncomfortable. You're an adult! When Mabel and Grunkle Stan say they are withholding information to protect me, they mean they're doing it to protect me. It's not a secret code, it doesn't mean they're trying to block you out of something. They respect me enough to not go handing out my own personal private information to anyone who asks.”

He clenched his hands into tiny fists, pausing to regulate his breathing which was getting more and more laboured with his anger. He needed to be the calm one, he needed that moral high ground. Dipper took a long slow breath in, held it for: _one, two, three, four_ seconds and let it out again before continuing.

“This isn't _Bill_ , Grunkle Ford, this is _your family_ and we’re not equipped to trick you like that. I get now, that you get paranoid, a-and I get real bad anxiety, so I can sympathise with how that must feel, I mean it's not as bad whatever you have but I  do get it, I do!!”

He took another deep breath, overly aware that his whole body was trembling He felt girly and exposed.  His Grunkle was staring at him through his glasses, sad brown eyes unblinking, mouth down turned and his brow furrowed.

“How do you expect us to t-trust you when you try to paint us like we're the bad guys, like this just now? You can't expect me to come to you with personal things or keep your secrets, if you treat my family like that.  I-I’ve only just met you and I know the situation is beyond anyone's control but still, I _barely know you._ ”

He sighed, shivering. Ford had been right about the chill and Dipper was only wearing boxers and a t-shirt.

He crossed his arms across his chest, partly for warmth, partly for comfort, partly because he was pissed off and didn’t know what to do with his hands.

“Look, I’ll tell you if I have to, just please, l-leave Stan and Mabel alone”

“No... No, Dipper you don't have to tell me anything.” Ford said, softly. He held up his hands to quiet the boy who opened his mouth to reply almost instantly.

 “You're right, I’m not entitled to any information you don't want to share. The others were just protecting you. I overreacted and I- I'm very sorry.”  Ford exhaled shakily. He shoved his hands in his coat pockets and looking off into the night.

His expression of contrition was the spitting image of his brother, a revelation which hurt Dipper more than it should have.

“It's probably time for you to get back to sleep, though. We can talk more in the morning.” His great uncle said, sounding weary himself.

Dipper nodded, rubbing at his eyes. He held his fist out, upper lip firm, jaw set. Ford’s eyes crinkled up at the corners, an almost smile. He made a fist of his own and bumped it against his nephew’s.

 A Truce.

No more room for handshakes here. Dipper thought back to the first time he’d met Ford, when he’d almost thrown up out of unbridled wonder to be meeting the Author, to be shaking his hand. The memory burned at the back of his throat like bile. There was another memory of a different, smaller, more disastrous handshake that sent shivers of raw fear down his spine.

 Dipper didn’t know how to feel about any of this, so all he ended up feeling was tired and prickly.

He opened the room door and made his way back inside and straight back to bed where it was warm, safe and his sister was breathing deeply.

“Where’d you go?” mumbled a half-asleep Mabel, into his shoulder. Her hair was splayed out across the pillows. She shifted over closer to the wall to make room for him. He pulled the covers back over both of them.

“Had to pee, dumdum. I‘m back now.” he murmured.

Mabel nodded and went back to sleep, her brother only hoped he could soon do the same.

 

* * *

 

They rose in the morning, like shell-shocked ghosts, Mabel and Stanley quickly moving to fill in the crater left by the previous night’s events. The older Pines Twins spread out, each brother giving the other as much space as possible.Stanley moved in an elliptical orbit around Ford just to get to the bathroom.  

The younger Pines twins snapped together like magnets. They moved about together, eating up the other’s space. Mabel read the brochures her brother was looking at, while balancing her bowl of tiny-box motel cereal on Dipper’s shoulder.

In the car Dipper used his sister as a human pillow and later fell asleep with his head against her arm, his arm coiled around her shoulders.

They were not usually tactile people. They were close, but at home they had their own space and friends they spent their time on. Here wasn't like normal life.

Gravity Falls had meant threats of death and destruction but also brought about denial. Denial two twins could ever hate each other.  Denial their Grunkle was ever in the wrong. Denial that their family was more broken than they let on. They were better friends here than in California.

Here their closeness kept them distinct from their other traveling companions. It made them special.

Mabel and Stan cracked dumb jokes, Ford read the maps and told his brother when to turn. Dipper stared out the window and only spoke when spoken to.

 Before they'd even left the motel that day, Mabel had linked her arm with her twin’s and would not let go. It hadn’t been a problem when he’d been sleeping

“Hey Mabel can I have my arm back now?” in response his twin gripped on even tighter.

“Nope, we're Siamese Twins now.”

“Mabel, I need that arm, it's my right arm. Which strangely enough is attached to my right hand which I need for like, everything.”

“Too late, Siamese Twins, it's my arm and I’m your right hand now.” Dipper sighed and leaned his head against his sister’s arm again.

“Whatever, Mabel.” He said, yawning. “I give up.”

“Conjoined Twins, you mean.” Corrected Stanford from the passenger seat.

“Do I?” asked Mabel, wide-eyed and curious.

“The term Siamese twin is a misnomer, Mabel. It arose because one of the most famous pair of conjoined twins: Eng and Chang Bunker came from a place called Siam which is now Part of Modern day Thailand. I also don't mean to burst your bubble but conjunction only occurs in mono-zygotic twins like Stan and I, not in fraternal twins like you two.”

Stanley laughed. Ford looked at him confused.

“What’s so funny about that? They _are_ fraternal twins.”

 “Nah, it’s just they’re also twelve years old. It’s just a joke Sixer, let them have their Siamese twin thing.”

“Conjoined twins, Grunkle Stan.” Mabel corrected, still clinging on to her brother’s arm like a barnacle. “Conjoined twins, Dipper.” She added.

Dipper nodded against his sister’s shoulder again. “ _Fine_ , if it’ll keep you happy. I’m going back to sleep.”

 

* * *

 

They’d passed the first sign post for Medford, Mabel was humming a tuneless melody staring out the window the highway’s constant expanse of pine trees was gradually beginning to fade into more buildings and suburbia.

“So Grunkmobile, how far are we away from the weather vane shop?” She asked, kicking her feet to stop them falling asleep.

“That all depends if there’s anywhere else you want to stop. Mabel honey you chose the fair so now it's the nerds turn here to choose a place to stop.”

Mabel scrunched up her nose like she’d smelled something awful.

“Please don't make this like a field trip.” She said glancing at Dipper, with a long-suffering tone to her voice.

Her twin grinned, pouring over three brochures at once “I won't! I'm gonna choose somewhere fun.”

“Dipper you're my brother and I love you but your definitions of fun…isn't fun.”

“To you, maybe. Anyway Mabel you got your turn yesterday, let me have mine.”

Dipper’s right.” Ford chimed in. “You both get one choice, that’s fair.”

“Fine, Fine.” She muttered. “But choose wisely- and by wisely I mean _cool_ -ly”

“Woah, woah, there’s a Space Museum?” her brother exclaimed.

Mabel slammed her face into the palms of her hands.

“You didn't listen to anything I just said did you?”

“Dude, space is the coolest thing out there. This is a space museum. That's cool.” His sister shook her head in frustration.

“Question, Mabel Pines, Stan’s Car Weekly.” She held her fist out like a microphone and shoved it in Dipper’s face.

He took a deep breath, it was easier just to humour her sometimes.

“Yes, Ms Pines?” He spoke into her fist.

“Can I launch myself into space at this so-called museum?” Mabel asked grinning.

“I’m gonna take an educated guess go with no.”

“Is it educational?”

Dipper shrugged. “Yes, how is that a bad thing?”

She paused,  “Are there aliens?”

  
“In general, or in this specific museum?”

“The museum obviously silly, everyone knows aliens exist.” Said Mabel with a dismissive handwave.

“Do they?” Dipper scrunched up his face and glanced towards the front seat.

Ford bobbed his head. “Eh. She’s not exactly wrong there, my boy.”

“Yeah kid that’s basically considered general knowledge” echoed Stanley.

Dipper rolled his e yes.“Well I'm sorry but the brochure does not mention aliens.”

“Boooring.” Said Mabel, “Aliens are the best part of space.

“Mabel, we’ve done your weird hippie craft thing, now can we please do my nerds in space thing just for an hour or so?”

“Ugh fine, but I reserve the right to make fake NASA radio chatter the entire time.” She said nodding.

  
Dipper shrugged. “Ok sure, that sounds relatively harmless.”

His sister paused, deep in thought. “And can we do a fun family thing too before we stop for tonight?”

“If I remember correctly, said Stanley, there’s an arcade complex not too far from the store.”

“Arcade!?” chorused both twins. Stan nodded his assent. 

Dipper remembered the task at hand. “Okay but we’re still gonna do the space museum first.”

Mabel groaned. “Dipper if I learn anything while we’re on summer vacation I’m going to be so cross with you."

“That’s fair.” Her twin added nodding.

 

* * *

 

The space museum was bigger and more interactive than the brochure had outlined. It was fantastic, and it was huge. It kind of looked like a spaceship. Two fused halls of metal and glass panels, the being was all modern lights and sharp angles, it looked like an art gallery in San Francisco their Nonna had taken the twins to once.

“It’s like the zoo for nerds,” muttered Mabel with a dramatic swooning sigh on their way in. Dipper just blew her a raspberry, already scanning the museum map and assigning ranking to exhibits in the order he wanted to see them.

 He pointed northwest. “I’m gonna go this way with Grunkle Ford. You guys can look at whatever you want to look at, at your own pace.” He said nodding between Mabel and Stanley.

Stan nodded, “Sounds fair, kiddo. Meet up in the centre in about an hour?” he said looking at his brother.

Ford grunted his acknowledgment, his nephew already dragging him of by the coat tails.

They took their time have a wander around the various displays and exhibits, when about half an hour in Dipper noticed that he was doing most of the talking.

“You haven’t said much today, great uncle Ford, is everything okay?” Dipper turned back to look at his uncle, “This is probably all like kids’ stuff to you right?”

“I was just thinking, is all, Dipper. Your sister wasn’t giving you too much trouble before, was she?”

“Nah, don’t worry about it Great Uncle Ford, that’s just our thing. It doesn’t mean anything.” Said Dipper falling quite happily into step with his uncle, soaking in models of the solar system and charts of data, only pausing to watch a video clip being shone on to the wall by a projector showing a montage of all the Apollo missions up to the modern day.

Ford paused, waiting for him, a puzzled expression on his face.

“I don't understand. Are you saying you _like_ it when your sister mocks things you enjoy?” he asked.

Dipper shrugged his shoulders, peering into a display case. “No, I don't _like_ it, but it doesn't really bother me. I mean we’re different people who have different interests, Great Uncle Ford.  It’s not a personal slight, we’re just different.”

Ford just looked even more confused by the explanation. “Exactly, that's exactly the point I'm trying to make. Isn’t that difficult?”

“No? I don’t know what you want me to say? We know we're not the same person. I mean we're obviously not carbon copies, that’s why we're better as a whole. We're a complementary pair. Like you get in DNA. We’re Cytosine and Guanine.”

Ford laughed at that, a rich dorky laugh, his eyes crinkled up into fine lines at the corners.

“You're something else, Dipper.” he said shaking his head fondly.

Dipper beamed at the praise, iridescent joy shining out from his satisfied face like rainbow light from a prism.

 “Hah, thanks Great Uncle Ford.” He said. “-And as for Mabel I mean it's a free country. She can complain if she wants when I want to do nerdy stuff, just like I do when she wants to have her friends over for sleepovers or she makes me help her plan events. It ends up pretty equal, at least where it counts.”

Ford pushed his glasses up his nose, where they’d been slipping. “Isn't it suffocating to you, always having her there watching over you?” he asked.

Dipper shrugged again. Here peered into a microscope display “Cool! Asteroids!” he gasped, turning the zoom dial so he could see closer in.  He moved over so Ford could have a look.

“Who said the thing about all good things in moderation, Grunkle Ford?” Asked Dipper, he shook his head never mind, “It's not going to be suffocating if you give yourself room for air. I mean sure she's my best friend but at home we don't spend every waking moment together, we both have other friends.”

Dipper glanced over across the room where in the adjoining  hall he could see Mabel attempting to walk with huge astronauts moon boots strapped to her feet and Stan stood nearby cackling and . Dipper grinned to himself, at least she was actually having fun.

 He glanced over at Ford who was examining a shiny obsidian fragment that had broken off a comet with an expression of polite scientific interest. There was a weird moment of absolute clarity where Mabel and Stanley were in clear joyful technicolour surround sound and Ford was detached silent monochrome. Dipper knew what side he’d prefer to fall. He wanted to defend his uncle and his sister but he didn’t know how.

He moved closer to Ford carrying on where he’d left off. “It's like you get to have a safety net through all your life events no matter how scary they are. Who else can say they get that? That's the _opposite_ of suffocating, if anything it makes it easier to breathe.” He added, feeling unexpectedly lucky to have such a goofy twin sister. She was much better than no sister at all, he thought.

Ford didn't say anything, his mouth was a thin pink line, Dipper caught him looking over at Mabel and Stanley and he couldn't read the expression on his face. If anything his uncle looked kind of older and kind of sad.

“Hey Dipper! Look it’s you! Come get a photo with me” Mabel called out from the doorway to the other hall.

He wandered over to see what she was yelling about, she ran back so was standing in front of a plasma screen spread of the night sky and she was pointing, quite correctly to the constellation of Ursa Major.

Dipper laughed, “Well done, Mabel you found my close-up!” He pulled off his hat and pushed a brown curl of hair out of the way so his birthmark was visible. “Ta-da!” he called out.

She followed the constellation north with her index finger and stopped at a particularly bright star.

 “-and look there’s Polaris! C’mon let’s take a selfie with them and we can send it to Mom and Dad. They’ll love it!”

Dipper wrapped his arm around his sister’s shoulder and smiled wide for her tiny phone camera. The camera flashed and Mabel pulled away giggling. Dipper put his hat back on with a grin.

 “That was an awesome idea!” she said, skipping forwards to where their Grunkles were waiting for them standing side by side.  

“Yeah you’re a genius before your time, birdbrain.” Said Dipper, he hit his sister on the arm affectionately.

Mabel grinned, her braces reflecting the museum’s harsh halogen lights.

“You kids good to go?” asked Stanley. Dipper glanced at his watch, it had been an hour already?

“Yeah okay, Stan.” He said smiling. His sister bounced back into step with him looping her arm with his again, mimicking her Conjoined twin thing she’d been doing that morning.

 “This place was actually kinda fun, Dippity Dog. You made a good choice!”

Dipper smiled at his sister. “Thanks but don’t call me Dippity Dog.”

“Sir Dippingsauce.” Offered Mabel, eyes twinkling like twin brown dwarf stars.

“Not any better.” He laughed, getting back into Stan’s car and buckling his seat belt.

“Sherbet Dip Dap, Esquire.” Chimed his sister, fastening her own.

Dipper rolled his eyes and groaned good-naturedly “You’re terrible.”

Mabel wasn’t done yet. “MC Dipmaster.” She added after some pause.

“Ugh Stan, make her stop.”

“The Dippinator 5000”

“You kids better pack it in, we’ve still got another forty minutes to go.”

“-and then the Arcade?” asked Mabel.

“Weather vane first, but then yeah you can go to the arcade.”

“Yeess!” there was the clapping sound of twin hi-fives and Stanley chuckled to himself glancing in the rear mirror.

 

* * *

 

They’d got what they came for, the question mark weathervane was in the car. Dipper had quite satisfactorily beat Stan twice at Fight Fighters and then DDR-ed himself into a sweat, and now he was stopping for a well-deserved drink in the café area with his great uncle.

Mabel as usual, had untapped reserves of energy. She charged up and down the arcade, periodically re-appearing with tiny fists full of pink tokens, which she bequeathed to her head token keeper, Stanley, whose lap was full of them.

Dipper watched her amused. However inside his gut was turning, the photos Mabel had given him felt like iron bricks inside his backpack. Back with another armful of tokens Mabel noticed her twin watching and she dumped the tokens into Stan’s lap and gave her brother a huge grin and two thumbs up.

 _‘You can do this, Dipper.’_ That meant. ‘ _Tell him, I believe in you.’_

He cleared his throat, his palms were sweaty. “Hey, Great Uncle Ford.”

 His uncle turned to look at him. “Yes Dipper, something the matter?”

“Wanna go take these out on the balcony?” He gestured to his milkshake and Ford’s coffee. “You can see the mountains from here.” It was a warm August afternoon the balcony was relatively clear, in the distance the top of Mt Isabelle poked out from behind the nearby shops and houses.

Ford smiled, he seemed relaxed at last. It suited him. “Ah, sure my boy.” He said.  “That'd be nice.”

They took their drinks outside and grabbed a table. There was a slight breeze that carried the smell of frying oil from the kitchens. Dipper took a long slurp of his milkshake to steady his nerves.  His palms were so sweaty, and he could feel a lump forming in his throat.

 _This is your decision, dude._ He berated himself. _You don’t have to tell anyone you don’t want to tell._

 _I do want him to know,_ he thought _. I want Ford to know, I do. I trust him._

He took Journal 3 out of his backpack and set it down on the table.

Ford quirked and eyebrow examining his nephew’s expression. “Dipper, Is something wrong?”

“No, I just wanted to show you something important.”

“In my journal?” asked Ford smiling again.

Dipper rubbed the back of his neck, feeling awkward. “Ah, kinda? I put some stuff in there for safe-keeping.”

He opened journal 3, skimming several pages with expert care. He opened the book to his desired page. ‘The Northwest Conspiracy.’ Which he had bookmarked with his photos.

He pulled out a photograph, of two chubby cheeked, brown eyed babies in elaborate white smocks trimmed with ornate embroidered flowers, he held it out for Stanford to see and cracked a nervous smile.

“You think you and Grunkle Stan’s baby photos are bad, check out these frilly nightmares.”

His great uncle raised his eyebrows. “Is this you and Mabel? What's with the hideous lacy dresses?

Dipper laughed. “Our Mom went through a creepy Victorian doll phase. It was _super_ weird. Here's a better one from Nonna’s Graduation party. We would have been about four there. I'm the one my dad is holding.”

He took out another photo from the journal, glanced at it in passing and visibly shuddered, pulling his vest around him a little tighter.

Ford leaned in closer to examine the photo. In it posed his baby sister Shermaine, middle-aged, her face lined with laughter, dressed in the hat and colours of a Phd. Next to her stood a skinny young man in his early twenties, dressed in a suit, dark hair and stubble. He looked a bit like a younger Stanley but he had the same shaped eyes as his son and daughter. Isaac Pines, Ford presumed. Shermy and Isaac each held a twin on their hip.

 Mabel was instantly recognisable clinging to her grandmother, her huge toothy grin, hair in bunches tied with mismatched ribbons, and in a smart lilac dress showing grass stains.

 Dipper wasn't even slightly familiar, only identifiable by deduction. His hair was long, it hung at his shoulders limp, straight and brown like Mabel wore her hair now but with bangs covering his birthmark.

He wore a matching pale purple dress to his sister, but the expression on his face was not as happy as hers. If anything the kid looked miserable, staring at the photographer like a plea for help.

“My eyesight has gotten worse in recent years but I'm afraid I can barely tell you apart…  You look as identical as Stan and I were at that age.”

“Yeah that tends to happen when you’re monozygotic twins and all.” Dipper said, smiling awkwardly. One hand fiddled with the collar of his vest the other gripped the edge of the table. His milkshake sat on the table half-drunk.

“Monozygotic twins… but…How?” Ford frowned, his head already scanning his mental database of rare genetic mutations to try and find something that would manifest in the sudden appearance of a Y chromosome in monozygotic twins, it was possible sure, but incredibly rare.

“That's why Grunkle Stan laughed this morning when you told us we were fraternal. It was an awkward situation he didn't know what to do about it. He was trying to defuse the tensions by making a joke about it.” Dipper explained.

His great uncle nodded slowly starting to understand. “So what does that have to do with the Northwest Conspiracy?”

“When Mabel and I went to investigate it further we stumbled across a treasure trove of government secrets.” He pulled out his cell phone.

 “They confiscated all written information but not before I was able to get a couple of pictures on here.” He pulled up a picture on his screen and passed it to Ford. A portrait of a certain founding father.

“It confirmed that there was a conspiracy to cover up the fact that Benjamin Franklin was a woman.” He shrugged to himself and added “Well kind of, anyway it wasn't very clear if they meant that Benjamin Franklin was a transgender woman, a trans man or a cis woman masquerading as a man to get into politics but modern gender terminology hadn't been coined then, I imagine. So they probably didn’t make a distinction.”

Ford blinked once slowly and deliberately trying to digest the onslaught of new terminology. Fiddleford had belonged to a student LGBT rights group when they were at college together so the words weren't exactly alien  to him but Ford was having trouble piecing together what it was his great nephew was really trying to tell him.

“What? Transgender? Benjamin Franklin… how is any of this related to…?” He trailed off as he remembered Mabel and Stanley’s code word. “If your ego is more important than the safety and comfort of a twelve year old boy.” Stan had said, that meant the secret the code word referred to was for Dipper’s wellbeing.

Mabel in the backseat of Stan's car after they fled the security guards. Mabel a child so sweet and saccharine being in her presence was enough to make Stanford’s teeth ache, and he'd seen anger flicker raw and unchecked across her face.

Her mention of the golden rule, his brothers goofy grin, _“Nobody fucks with my twin but me.”_ Something that would justify Mabel shooting a guy with a bow and something serious enough that Stanley would let such an event occur unchecked. _“Are you okay Dipper?”_ his brother had asked that a lot in the car, he hadn't thought much of it. Stanley cared about the kids, that much was obvious.

 Then there was that other incident with the bees, “ _I think they're bonding over me?”_ Dipper had said. If there was anything Stan listened to it was his childish rules of loyalty he'd clung to for fifty odd years, rules best left being in a New Jersey playground. He was protecting his nephew, but what from? And why keep the twins zygoticity a secret?

The metaphorical lightbulb springing up above Ford’s head was more like floodlights of understanding.

 “Ah. I think I see where this is headed.”  He said, after a while.

_Oh, that would explain a lot of things._

Dipper nodded, shyly darting around eye contact and wringing his hands.

“When I was born my Nonna Shermy gave me the nickname Dipper, and growing up I preferred it to my dead name. She also gave Mabel the nickname Polaris because, well you know astronomy—the Big Dipper points to Polaris, the brightest North Star. It didn't stick like mine did though, I mean a one-year-old couldn't wrap her mouth around the world Polaris, but ‘Ippa’ was fine.”

“She did always love the stars, that one.” Said Ford, a fingertip brushing softly over the image of his younger sister.

He smiled. He looked his nephew straight in the eye in an attempt to emphasise his sincerity.

 “Thank you, Dipper, for telling me this.” He said, with a genuine grin. He nodded firmly. “I can appreciate that this was difficult to share.”

Dipper relaxed visibly.

“Do you wanna know some else great Uncle Ford? Mabel’s known forever, sometimes I honestly think she knew what was making me unhappy before I did, she's like an extension of me some of the time.

 I was about five when I first started telling the family “I'm a boy, don't call me girl things” but almost everyone wrote it off as a tomboy phase, except for one grown up. Can you guess who that was?”

“Shermy?” he guessed, glancing at the photo of his sister.

“No.” Dipper gestured to the glass wall connecting the balcony to the arcade and café area, inside Stanley sat on a JetSki simulator game, his feet controlling the pedals while Mabel sat on his lap steering the wheel.

“Stanley?” he sounded incredulous, like he couldn’t quite believe it.

“He never even batted an eyelid, he called me boy, and son and guy. He introduced me to everyone as his nephew Dipper and corrected anyone who tried to use my deadname.

I mean you were there for the fiasco with the bees.

 He thinks he's so without morals yet he's always defending the little guy. He’s always fighting in my corner. There's no one else that invested in my wellbeing except Mabel.”

Ford’s eyes crinkled up again. He sighed softly. “Oh. Dipper you're something special.” He said.

“Now that you’ve told me your secret, are there any other things you need me to take in to consideration?”

Dipper nodded, sipping at his milkshake again.

“Two things: one, don't out me in anyway. Two, respect my sister.”

“I respect Mabel!” said Ford defensively.

His nephew shook his head. “You tolerate her, it’s not the same. Mabel is the reason your journal isn't lying at the bottom of some canyon somewhere or in the lake or in the bottomless pit _ad nauseaum_.”  Dipper shuddered at that last bit.

 “I mean if she didn't try and date half the towns gnome population than we wouldn't have found out their weakness, If she wasn't trying to meddle with my love life we'd never have discovered old shifty and McGucket’s old laptop, and I'd probably still be under Bill’s control. “

Stanford raised his eyebrows but he didn’t interrupt him. Dipper elaborated.

“Mabel gave up her dream to get me out of his grasp, she risked public ridicule for my safety. Hell, Mabel is the reason you're even sitting here, if she didn't trust Stan she could have easily shut off the portal. Despite what you may think of her, she’s her own kind of genius, she's creative and resourceful and she understands how people work. Her glass is half full mine is half empty, that doesn't mean we're incompatible, it just means together we make a full glass.

She's my courage and my silliness. I mean, yeah,  she's the most obnoxious, annoying, noise-making sweater-wearing  12-year-old I’ve ever met and at times we wanna kill each other but yet  I  still consider myself unbelievably lucky to have her as my twin.

Basically what I'm trying to say Grunkle Ford, is that you are our family and I obviously trust you. because look-“  he gestured to his evidence on the table  “ but you don't really know my sister and you don't really know me, so please don't assume what our relationship is like because it may look like a wreck from time to time – I mean we’re siblings by definition  we don't always get along—  but we manage.”

Ford nodded, slowly and deliberately. His forehead creased like his was thinking hard. He still didn’t know what to make of this all.

“I can make sacrifices for her because I have confidence that if push comes to shove she'd do the same thing for me. She's my right hand, Great Uncle Ford. I'm not asking you to understand that but I'm asking you respect it. We're family, your family and we don't abandon our own. Not anymore.”

Ford sipped at his coffee, expression sad and sombre and about fifteen other contradictory emotions at once. After a while he reached a hand out across and curled his fingers into a fist again.

“I can manage respect, understanding takes time and it takes work, but right now I can manage respect.” He paused and offered his fist out to his nephew “To family?” he said.

Dipper bumped his six-fingered fist with his own.

“To family.”

 

 


End file.
